“I’ve got a number of books about them. The tree hasn’t grown too far from the apple if you get my meaning?”
Roger looks puzzled. “Isn’t it the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree?”
“Yes, but remember we’re referring to Down Under? Anyway, they ate all the available food and a lot of them died of starvation. Those who survived learned respect for the balance of nature, man’s proper place in the overall scheme of things, and the spiders. They learned about spiders and snakes.”
“What happened then?”
“They ate the spiders and snakes.”
“Then what?”
“Well, they settled in and spent a lot of the intervening time telling strange stories they call the Dreamtime.”
Roger sighs. “It’s more about life now for people like us that I want to read about. Not how to throw a spear or make a boomerang.”
Brainy grins like a schoolboy, “Well, it all boils down to some bloke landing on a beach in a silly hat about 200 years ago.”
“Silly hat? You mean their three cornered hat?”
“Yes, but it was known as a ‘cocked hat’ during its time and later known as the Tricorne, until in the 1800s when it fell out of fashion.”
“Well, yes. I suppose it’s unlikely they’d have been wearing Akubras back then.” Roger smiles. “That would be the European convicts sent by the Crown in chains to a penal settlement in the south?”
“Well, yes, you’re probably correct. Crime and punishment would have been like a bushman’s holiday for many, only with a few deranged officials in charge. Anyway, after they’d killed more aborigines than malaria, they tried to plant their crops in autumn. They failed to realise that the seasons were reversed you see. They ate all their available food and a lot of them died of starvation.”
“It has a familiar ring to it.”
“What them killing the aborigines?”
“No, the British have always killed everyone in their way. Look at any atlas to witness the extent of vast, pink Imperialism. That’s one of the reasons we’re so damned unpopular.”
“Oh, ok.” Brainy beams. “Well, there’s no substitution for a winning personality, but it was about then that the sheep arrived and have been a treasured resource ever since.”
“So really the only information I’m likely to find is that I should eat more lamb and always carry a stick.” Roger sums up.
“What else?” Sue sighs. “We’re drifting off topic.”
Brainiac looks a little beaten.
“Well I’m afraid that’s all I have on the matter.”
Back home Sue attends to Jayne and James while Roger sits at the dining table twiddling a pen as though it is a well-earned cigarette.
“Time for a bottle of Chateau cardboard and another rethink.”
“It’s earth shattering stuff,” Sue calls out from the east wing, its entirety affording their bedroom, “Now it’s going to cost us a whole £10 each and we’re being extra choosey.”
Sue joins Roger at their table.
Both now into the plonk, Roger is thinking it could be a great time for him to try the horizontal limbo, as Australia is an awfully long way to go for a shag.
He raises his glass to his wife, and smiles, “Here’s to us then, Sweet Pea.”
Sue toasts back, “Good luck to you then, Knucklehead.”
Roger frowns. “Maybe I should act royally.”
“Alright, how’s about Lord Pist-a-lot then.”
“According to Brainy, it’s the driest, flattest, and at times hottest, place imaginable. The most merciless place north of Antarctica. Remind me again, Sue, why are we going there?”
“For a better life.”
“No guarantees. No idea about housing, or costs,” Roger sighs, “and if we go to Australia we’ll be saying goodbye to everything we’ve ever known here.”
“Such as?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Country of our birth. Maybe Ena Sharples, Len Fairclough, and Stan Ogden of Coronation Street. Ronnie Barker, Dave Allen?”
Sue takes a sip of wine. “What else, seriously?”
“We may never see any more re-runs of Steptoe & Son. I’ll miss the rasping and manipulative voice of Wilfred Bramble and the comic antics of Harry H. Corbett.”
“We’ll also be leaving a country of strange names. Prisons like Wormwood Scrubs, Strangeways, and Parkhurst. In the county of Sussex there’s Devil’s Dyke,” Sue adds with a smile. “Does any of that matter? It’s like complaining about potholes when they’re among the few things left that are still being made here.”
“And in London I never did find out why Tooting Bec was so called, and will we or the children miss being able to ride the tube trains or the double decker buses?” Roger adds, “Or the donkeys on the beach?”
“Well you don’t ride them now, and anyway why should you miss a bus?” Sue pauses. “Are we going Down Under or not?” she asks firmly.
Roger sighs. “Yes. I suppose so, okay.”
“You mean it?” Sue brightens.
“Yes, a bit of roast kookaburra, or some nicely fried platypus will be a change from sausages and sardines.”
“What’s a platt-ie-pus?”
“I don’t know, not even sure how to spell it.”
“What about roasted kangaroo?” Sue asks.
“Might taste alright.”
“Are you sure we’d go? Even without a job and no money?”
“We’re broke here. I’m supposing we’ve got little or nothing to lose.”
Everything that has happened to them to date, the untimely death of Sue’s dad at only 58, the premature death of Roger’s mum aged only 38, and their financial hardships working at the behest of family, has finally led them to this juncture.
“Okay.” Sue replies, drawing out the word. “Yes, then we’ll go,” and with that she takes Roger’s face in her hands and gives him a kiss that nearly sets his clothes on fire. Roger finds his baser instincts creeping firmly into place.
“If we do go Down Under,” Roger muses, “will the missionary position be upside down?”
“Trust you to bring sex into it.”
“Now might be a good time to sing God Save the Queen.”
Instead, in low tones so as not to wake their babies, they butcher Waltzing Matilda.
“Are you happy about all this, Roger?” Sue asks between humming and softly singing.
“I will be, if it works.”
Chapter 3
THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE
As part of the application process, Sue and Roger are assigned to see separate doctors to avoid any risk of collusion.
“Heaven only knows why? What on earth concerns them? Collusion about what?”
“Don’t worry, Sue. Remember we’re dealing with a government department, and to boot one with an unlimited budget.”
“We should be thankful, that Fred is not booked in to see the